


Opening Night (Hotdog x Reader)

by foodfantasies (hereisnowhy)



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female Master Attendant (Food Fantasy), Fluff, Male Master Attendant (Food Fantasy), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereisnowhy/pseuds/foodfantasies
Summary: Cheerful little short-form fluff piece featuring Hotdog! It’s the opening night of her latest gallery show, and you’re among the attendees to show your support.No gendered pronouns used when referring to the reader.
Relationships: Hotdog/Master Attendant (Food Fantasy), Reader/Hotdog (Food Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Opening Night (Hotdog x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Per Tumblr request, a little bit of fluff starring Hotdog!

You studied the painting before you, arms crossed, a hand supporting your chin. The gallery was bustling with patrons who had come to see the new collection on display. You were actually already familiar with each and every one of these paintings, but seeing them mounted and lit in a professional setting like this gave them a fresh new feeling. The works from the spotlighted artist always drew crowds, partially for their beauty and skill, but also because the artist who created them wasn’t a human — they were a Food Soul.  
Your Food Soul, Hotdog, to be precise.

“Aah, you look so charming when you're lost in thought,” a husky, lilting voice exclaimed to your right. You turned, startled, but a smile spread across your face as you recognized the artist herself addressing you.   
“Hotdog! What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be socializing with the collectors and patrons? Your public image is—“   
“Oh, hush,” she dismissed your words with a wave of her hand, red nails flashing under the studio lights. “If _les_ _mécènes des arts_ cannot appreciate my desire to spend time with my beautiful Attendant, they do not deserve to hang a painting of mine in their parlor.” She grabbed your hand, pulling you close against her and throwing an arm around your waist.   
You blushed, eyes darting nervously around the room.   
“ _At-ten-dant_ ,” Hotdog crooned in a singsong voice. “What’s wrong, don’t you want to hold me?”

You were used to these affectionate games with your feisty Food Soul, but this was your first time attending one of these upper-crust gatherings, and you were hyper-conscious of your behavior.  
“I just don’t want to cause a scene,” you whispered quickly into her ear, “I’m so nervous around these fancy, high-society people…”   
Hotdog giggled, giving your bum a quick pinch and making you jump.   
“My show, my rules,” she proclaimed, planting a kiss on your cheek and leaving a bright red ring of lipstick behind. “There. I’ll leave you be, but if you wipe that off…” She released you to throw an arm across her forehead in a dramatic gesture, “I’ll be _heartbroken_.”

She turned on her heel, long golden hair flying behind her in a shining arc, and headed straight for a gaggle of slick-suited men clustered around a painting. As she approached she grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, downing half of it before claiming the patrons' attention — “Gentlemen!” she gushed, “Wonderful to see you, as always, thank you for your continued support….”

You watched her go, laughing and shaking your head. You were crazy about that wild, rambunctious creature. Her free spirit had led the two of you on countless misadventures in your time together, and her fawning affection for you had done wonders for your confidence. You didn’t see what she could see in you, but you held her in such high regard that you couldn’t just dismiss her enthusiastic praise.

With a happy sigh you turned back to the painting you’d been viewing. It was your favorite. You remembered when she was working on this one. It had been started during one of her late-night frenzies of inspiration — she had dragged her easel and paints out into the living room, not even bothering to throw her smock on before putting brush to canvas. You’d sat on the sofa behind her for hours as she worked, listening to her sing and think aloud, chatting and laughing together. You opened a bottle of wine and ordered pizza and and the two of you had sat cross-legged on the ground as you ate it right from the box, staring up at the half-finished painting.

Still smiling at the memory, you stepped aside for a couple who were waiting to view the painting and moved on to the next one. You hadn’t even noticed their puzzled glance at the crisp scarlet kiss-print still stamped on your cheek.


End file.
